


Bugged

by chaostheoryy



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: A joke becomes undeniably true, Accidental Fantasy, Gratuitous Smut, Hotels, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7209620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaostheoryy/pseuds/chaostheoryy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Napoleon discovers Illya has bugged his hotel room, he decides to find a way under the Red Peril's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bugged

Illya had bugged him. Again. It was absolutely childish to continue this back and forth competition, spying on one another when they were supposed to be working together. Granted Napoleon had bugged Illya's belongings as well...

But that was beside the point. The point was Napoleon was sitting in a room with dozens of tiny radio receivers in every coat pocket and corner of the room which meant his Russian counterpart was probably listening in on his every move. What was he expecting anyway? A phone call to some undercover ally? A late night rendezvous with some Italian spy holding important information regarding Gaby's father? Well, whatever Illya was waiting on, it wasn't coming. In fact, the evening's plans consisted of absolutely nothing. They were still waiting on Gaby's uncle to confirm a day to meet her and had no means of picking up on chatter from the Vinciguerra estate. So, like it or not, they were going to have to find a way to make the time pass that evening.

Knowing that Illya was more than likely sitting in his room playing chess with his radio by his side, Napoleon was intrigued as to what kind of things he could do to get on the Red Peril's nerves. Sure he could play some obnoxious American rock n' roll to drive Illya up the wall or simply repeat the national anthem over and over again. But where would the fun be? Surely there had to be something he could do that would be enjoyable for himself while allowing him to get under his counterpart's skin.

With a glass of scotch in hand, Napoleon paced the room as he thought. The view of Rome from his room was incredible. The way the lights illuminated the sky and made it so the bricks seemed to glow was stunning. No wonder people found it so romantic.

An idea struck him like a racing train. There was definitely something he could do that would embarrass the hell out Illya, so much so that he would probably have to shut off his radio. Sex. All Napoleon would have to do was climb in bed with someone and go to town. Certainly Peril wouldn't sit around listening to it all. The man couldn't even hold the gaze of a beautiful woman without getting a little flustered.

Napoleon downed the rest of his scotch before padding into the bedroom. For a moment he considered calling down to the front desk and inviting the receptionist up for a drink but the idea quickly faded. Perhaps there was something even better, something that would drive Illya insane. It didn't take him long before he thought of the perfect thing to do and when it came to him, he smirked devilishly.

Napoleon began stripping out of his clothes, dropping them on the floor at the end of the bed. Leaving on only his underwear, he grabbed the bottle of lotion off the night stand and brought it over to his bed where he laid down. If Illya was going to sit around listening to his every move, than that stubborn Russian was going to have to listen to him pleasure himself.

He took his time warming up to it, gently rubbing himself through the fabric of his underwear. He didn't make much noise as he did so, wanting to keep his devious plan a secret for as long as possible. He hoped Illya was alone. It wasn't that he was shy about having people aware of his sexual encounters. He just didn't want poor Gaby to be in the room when Illya lost his temper. He could picture Illya now, sitting in that tiny chair, scrunched over with his brow furrowed. Completely focused on the chess game in front of him, he doesn't move. He just stares at the game board, mouth pulled into a slight frown. His blue eyes are narrowed, fixated on the black knight advancing toward his side. His tongue darts out, wetting the lips that have gone dry with the anticipation of upcoming moves. That strong, scruffy jaw is clenched, teeth grinding mercilessly.

Napoleon's eyes shot open and his brow raised in curiosity as he realized what he was doing. He was picturing Illya as he touched himself. Now there was something he had never anticipated happening. It was wrong, definitely wrong. Not because Illya was a man. He'd definitely had fantasies about men before. It was wrong because when all was said and done and the mission was over, Illya would go back to being the Red Peril of Russia, back to being an enemy of the United States.

Napoleon sighed, hand pausing at his thigh. He knew he should stop himself. He knew he should just find some pretty young woman to fool around with instead but he just didn't want to. He wanted to do this. He wanted to think about that damn blond downstairs who was too concerned about his reputation to let any sort of weakness show. He wanted to think about the way Illya's lips pursed when he held back in an argument. He wanted to picture those massive hands pinning his wrists over his head as a hot, heavy body leaned over him. He wanted to imagine that thick Russian accent whispering in his ear, telling him to be quiet while a warm, slick cock rubbed against his aching hole.

Napoleon gasped as he gave his cock a firm squeeze through his underwear. Thinking about Illya was definitely working him up. He was getting hard, his cock beginning to ache. He took a deep breath and removed his underwear, tossing them on the floor by his clothes. He then reached over and poured some lotion in his palm. There was no need to hold back now. He was going to really pleasure himself now and Illya was going to hear it.

Hand slick, he reached down and took hold of his erection, groaning lowly. He slowly began stroking, hand sliding all the way up and all the way down the length of his cock. As he did so, he leaned his head back and breathed heavily, letting out a few low moans. However, the second he gave a little twist of the wrist and brushed his finger along the tip, he let out a deep, lewd moan.

" _Illya_..."

 

* * *

 

Illya had been completely focused on his game. Chess wasn't something to take lightly. It was a game of skill, a game of patience and logic. It helped train his mind to think ahead of his opponents and anticipate moves long before they were to be made.

No game of chess, however, prepared him for what happened next. Just as he was moving one of his rooks forward, he heard a shallow gasp come from his radio. He furrowed his brow. Was that Napoleon?

He reached over and grabbed the radio from the table, holding it close to his ear. Sure enough, he could hear the soft gasping breaths of his American counterpart upstairs who was, without a doubt, masturbating. Illya groaned, eyes rolling. Napoleon was an insatiable man. He clearly couldn't last a few days without sleeping with some poor, easily deceived woman or touching himself.

Convinced the man wasn't going to be stopping anytime soon, Illya made a move to turn the radio off only to freeze completely when he heard Napoleon moan out his name.

" _Illya_..."

The Russian's eyes widened, breath catching in his throat. He had a hard time believing what he'd just heard. If Napoleon had actually uttered his name than that meant...

Illya swallowed. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Napoleon had called his name out by accident. Maybe he found one of his transmitters and was calling out to him to debug his room. But the tone didn't indicate anger at all. In fact, it was far from that. It was breathless pleasure bordering on awe.

He listened carefully, noticing a very faint squeak of bed springs beneath the heavy breaths of the American spy. For a moment it was simply breathing, but soon enough there were several gasps and groans.

Illya stared at the wall across from him as he sat there waiting. What he was waiting for, he wasn't exactly sure of. Perhaps he was waiting for this to end. Or maybe he was waiting to hear his name called out again. If it was the latter, he definitely got what he wanted, only this time it was louder.

"Ohh.... Illya! Yes..."

Illya's jaw clenched, lips going dry as he gaped at the empty space around him. Napoleon Solo was masturbating to thoughts of him. He couldn't deny it. He also couldn't deny the fact that he wanted to listen, that he was unable to draw his attention from what was happening on the other end of the line.

"Ahhh... God, yes... Faster, Illya... Please..."

He could hear the distant, unmistakable sound of skin gliding against skin and knew that Napoleon was pumping himself without hesitation. It was so wrong. He shouldn't sit there and listen to the man who was once his enemy masturbate to some crude homosexual fantasy. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't put the radio down. He wanted to listen to Napoleon moaning and groaning and calling his name out in such a sinful way. It was so wrong but Illya wanted it so much.

He wondered what Napoleon was imagining in his head. Was he picturing Illya's hands wrapped around his cock? Did he picture himself pressed against the wall with Illya's body grinding against him? Was he fantasizing about Illya fucking him relentlessly into the mattress? What kind of filthy things were running through his mind as he touched himself?

Illya bit his lip. He was quickly becoming aroused just listening to Napoleon moan his name. But once he started imagining his own fantasies, he couldn't stop himself from getting hard. He could practically see Napoleon laying on his back with his cock in hand. He's so helpless, legs sprawled out, muscles tight as he writhes on top of the sheets. He's completely naked, his skin beaded with sweat. That slick black hair of his is a mess, stray hairs dangling over his forehead.

"Illya... O-Oh fuck... Yeah... Just like that..."

Illya closed his eyes and reached down to palm at his erection with his free hand. Dammit he was in trouble. He couldn't stop himself. That idiot Solo had gotten him so worked up he just had to touch himself or he'd go crazy. Especially if he kept moaning his name like that. He leaned back in his chair and spread his legs out to make the ache a little more bearable. Napoleon was still going at it, his uninhibited moans echoing into his ear as he began rubbing himself through his clothes.

"I-Illya, please... I'm, ah, I'm gonna..."

Suddenly, Napoleon cried out as he reached his orgasm. Illya could picture him so clearly, laying on his back, completely exhausted with ribbons of semen on his abdomen. The Russian groaned deeply, wanting nothing more than to pleasure himself. But the risk of Gaby returning to the room was too high for him to just drop his pants and give himself a good hand job. He was either going to have to lock himself in the bathroom or wait it out.

"Peril."

Illya's heart skipped a beat. That wasn't Napoleon crying out mindlessly in the throws of pleasure. He was speaking to him.

"If you're still listening, I suggest you come upstairs," Napoleon's voice murmured through the radio, "If you do, I can guarantee you'll get something a lot better than a sloppy hand job."

Illya's cheeks went red. Napoleon knew. The entire time he had masturbated and fantasized about him, Napoleon had been completely aware that the room was bugged. That meant he had done it all on purpose, that he really did want Illya to listen in on him.

Illya felt a small smirk pull at his lips as he turned off the radio and headed for the door. Very well. If Solo wanted to toy with the Red Peril, he was going to get exactly what he asked for.


End file.
